On Monday night I found myself sitting in the vertiginous heights of the upper balcony of the Bournemouth International Centre. I was surrounded by an eclectic crowd, many of whom were wearing pink sparkly cowboy hats. Not my usual Monday night occupation, obvs, but this was no ordinary Monday – it was S Club Monday.
There was a valid reason for me to be at the S Club Reunion Tour (other than the throwback value) and the thought process went something like this:-
Teen and Teen’s friend have happy memories of leaping around to S Club when they were pre-schoolers so when they announced a Bournemouth stop of their tour two tickets were purchased to celebrate the 15th birthday of Teen’s friend. That was in December 2014, we went to bed and woke up in May 2015 and the concert was upon us. I was on taxi duty, and as Bournemouth is a 40 minute drive, there is no point coming home in between drop off and pick up so the Tween and I faced an evening of hanging around Bournemouth killing time (single parent conundrum – when taking the older one out the younger one always has to come unless you want to cough up for a babysitter).
There was nothing suitable on at the cinema, my usual go to occupation when waiting to collect from a BIC concert, when I had a light bulb moment – why didn’t the Tween and I go too? So, on to StubHub and ten minutes later we had two cheap resale tickets up in the gods, suitably far away from the Teen and her pal who had standing tickets and so not at risk of maternal or sibling embarrassments.
That is how I came to be primly sipping my water waiting for seven 30 somethings to take to the stage and entertain me.
Well, I am not (too) ashamed to say that entertain me they did. As soon as the magnificent seven rose up from their glittery podia to the familiar strains of ‘Bring the House Down’ swiftly followed by ‘S Club Party’ I was on my feet mum-dancing like a goodun.
Scrutinising the close ups on the big screens it seemed that the band have not really aged although they did not seem quite as supple and confident moving around the stage as they maybe were in their heyday. There were definitely some live vocals but I wouldn’t like to put a percentage figure on it. We heard all the hits – none of your new material rubbish – and a cover of Uptown Funk which was the highlight for the Tween who, at 12 years old, has little memory of all the other songs. It was basically like being at a huge karaoke/disco party with one of those DJs who makes you do all the dance moves. It’s not often you get to go those sort of affairs at my age!
As we reached the end of show (double encore with ticker tape, streamers, pyros – the works) I noticed that with all the sea of mobile phones being waved in the air the Tween was not recording or broadcasting anything.
“Quick,” I panicked “put something on your Snapchat story, Instagram some pics.”
The Tween calmly reminded me that two weeks ago I had made her delete all her social media accounts after a too-much-time-spent-on-electronic-devices meltdown.
“Forget that!” I said “Have my phone, quick post something or no-one will know you have been here.”
She met my frantic wild eyed stare with a level gaze.
“ It’s OK,” she replied, “I’ll just tell people about it in person tomorrow.”
That single, old fashioned comment was the best moment of the whole evening and rounded off our Freaky Friday style role reversal night perfectly.
But I really, really, wish I had bought a pink sparkly cowboy hat as a souvenir.
PS – If you want to hear the Teen’s view of the evening you can find it on her blog Love Millie Rose